


Not Exactly Five-Star

by the_genderman



Series: Semi-Canon Freebird-Verse [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bad Decisions, Gen, Hotels, M/M, Motels, On the Run, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Road Trips, what else can go wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 09:17:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14691075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: AKA: Snippets of Sam and Steve’s adventures at less than spectacular motels over the course of the two years between Captain America: Civil War and Avengers: Infinity War (Part 1).





	Not Exactly Five-Star

**Author's Note:**

> These motels are mostly based on actual experiences. Some are a mildly unpleasant experience I once had, taken and exaggerated upon for fic purposes. Some are based on other people's stories. One of them is pretty much straight up exactly what happened to me.
> 
> Also, I wrote almost 5K in like 2 days and I almost never get anything beta-read, so if there are any glaring errors, that's why.

☆☆☆★★

“Steve, I think they gave us the wrong room key,” Sam said, wiggling the key in the lock and trying to shoulder the door open. He could swear he’d heard the click of the lock opening. Maybe it had been the lock breaking. Who knew? Considering this place was still using physical keys on beat-up plastic tags, he had no idea how much use and abuse this lock had been subjected to.

“Room 16, right?” Steve replied, returning from the car with their bags. 

“Yeah? I mean, I _think_ it’s a 16,” Sam said, poking the numerals. The six was kind of loose. It could feasibly be a 19. The neighboring rooms were 15 and 27, so he wasn’t sure what kind of numbering scheme this motel was attempting (or not attempting). 

“So, is the key not turning, or the door just not opening, or what?” Steve asked, leaving the duffels slung over his shoulder. He didn’t quite like the idea of setting them down on the ground, with its cigarette butts and snack wrappers littered around the central ‘courtyard.’

“Key’s turning, but the door isn’t budging,” Sam said with a grunt as he shouldered the door again. The door remained closed. He twisted the key back to neutral position and removed it from the lock. “I’m gonna go see if we can change rooms.”

“You want me to come, too?”

“Nah, you’re still a little too recognizable. Wait here with the bags.”

\-----------

Sam walked back up to the security-barred window of the tiny front office of this nondescript urban motel. He knocked on the window frame to try to get the attention of the night manager, sitting with his back to the window, watching the tiny cathode-ray TV bolted up in the corner. The night manager looked over his shoulder at Sam, not turning away from the TV.

“You again?”

“Uh, yeah. I think the lock’s broken, I can’t get in my room,” Sam said. “Do you think I could change rooms?”

“Yeah, nah. We’re full,” the night manager said. 

Sam glanced at the pegboard where the keys were hung. There were at least a half-dozen keys still hanging up there, but he didn’t want to make too much of a fuss.

“Well, I can’t get in my room. How about a refund?”

“What room are you in again?”

“Number 16.”

“Oh, _that_ one,” the night manager said, turning his head back to the TV as the picture began to jump. He stood up and thumped the side of the TV until the picture settled back down. “Door’s sticky. Gotta give it a good shove.”

Sam waited to see if he’d get anything more from the guy, but he was lost to the TV again. He sighed and turned to go.

\----------

“So, what’d he say?” Steve asked expectantly.

“He says the door’s sticky and I gotta give it a good shove. Which, I thought that’s what I _had_ been doing,” Sam replied, frustration coming out in his voice. It was late, he was tired, they had been driving all day, and it wasn’t looking likely that they’d be getting a refund if they didn’t manage to get into their room.

“How much do you care about me possibly breaking the door?” Steve asked.

“I’d prefer to not end up getting the police called on us, but other than that, not a whole lot,” Sam shrugged.

“Alright, trade me,” Steve said, slipping the bags off his shoulder and offering them to Sam. Sam handed Steve the key, took the bags, and stepped back.

Steve inserted the key, turned it as far as it would go, and rammed the door with his shoulder. The metal door gave a screeching groan, bent in a little, then popped open, returning to mostly its original shape.

“After you, sir,” Steve said, grinning a little.

☆☆☆☆★

“You know what, I take it back. I think I actually prefer that place with the warped door that stuck when you closed it,” Sam said, spinning the door lock ineffectually.

“Why. What’s wrong with this one?” Steve asked, popping his head out from the bathroom where he was stopping up the bathtub drain so he could get started on their laundry.

“Lock’s broken. Like, _actually_ broken this time.”

“What’s wrong with it? It was working just fine a minute ago.”

“Watch this,” Sam said. He opened the door a crack and spun the lock. The deadbolt stayed firmly parked inside the door. 

“Well,” Steve said, eyebrows raised and hands on his hips.

“Yeah.”

“So, no lock at all?”

“Only the chain.”

“You wanna ask about changing rooms?”

“You’ve already got our clothes in the bathtub, don’t you?” Sam asked, listening to the water running.

Steve nodded.

Sam shook his head. “I’m not packing up wet clothes to change rooms. We can shove a chair under the knob or something.”

“As long as you’re happy,” Steve replied, picking up the desk chair and wedging it under the door handle.

“I’m not happy, but I am making do,” Sam said, dropping onto the bed without even bothering to pull the comforter (cigarette burn holes and all) back.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, leaning over the bed to kiss Sam on the forehead. “If we could afford it, I’d put us up at the Waldorf-Astoria for you.”

“I know you would, and I appreciate the sentiment,” Sam said, closing his eyes and smiling a little. “But right now, I think you should make sure the tub isn’t overflowing. I don’t trust it to have a cutoff valve.”

Steve gave an “Oop” and popped up to jog back to the bathroom.

☆☆★★★

“You know, this place doesn’t actually look so bad,” Steve said, scanning the motel grounds. “It’s even got a pool.”

“We’re supposed to be keeping things low-key here, Steve. If you take your shirt off in public, we’ll be throwing caution _all_ the way out the window,” Sam said. “And I’m keeping that all for myself, thank you very much.”

“Spoilsport,” Steve teased, elbowing Sam. “Alright, we’re in 212. Second floor. Should have a decent vantage point.”

The climbed the stairs in silence, listening to the thunk of their shoes on the metal grating of the steps.

Sam stopped to buy a candy bar from the vending machine, while Steve went ahead to let himself into their room.

The candy bar clunked down to the bottom of the machine. The room door clicked open. Then, Steve’s voice. “Oh, God! What the— who are _you_?” Followed by an unfamiliar male voice “I said no cleaning while I was in here, don’t you listen—wait, who the fuck are you?”

Sam was on his feet in an instant and at Steve’s side a moment later. Lying on the bed of room 212 was a very naked stranger.

“Excuse y’all, I was _trying_ to enjoy myself here,” the man said, glaring at Steve and Sam.

“What room is this?” Steve asked.

“212, like it says on the door. Are you slow?”

“I think I might have the wrong room,” Steve said, pulling the door closed.

“I think you do!” came the muffled reply.

“What the hell was that?” Sam said quietly, pointing at the room and hoping the naked stranger in the room they had supposedly rented couldn’t hear them.

“I don’t know, I don’t want to know,” Steve replied, shoving his hands in his pockets, body language definitely embarrassed. “I _do_ however, think I want a new room.”

\-------

To be fair, since it was a mix-up on the part of the front desk, Sam and Steve did get a very nice credit off their bill and a new, _definitely_ unoccupied room. And it was a pretty nice room, all things considered. Might even have made it up to ‘very nice,’ if it hadn’t been for the naked stranger.

☆☆☆☆★

“I thought this was supposed to be a non-smoking room?” Steve said as he considered not actually unpacking his duffel.

“It’s a back-of-nowhere motel in the middle of tobacco country,” Sam shrugged. “I’d worry more about the fact that it smells like cat piss in here.”

“Right. Cat allergy. Should I go ask if we can change rooms?”

“Well, I was more concerned with the possibility of there being a meth lab somewhere in this building. I’d prefer if the motel didn’t blow up during the night. If I wake up with a case of the sniffles, I’ll call that a win.”

Steve nodded his agreement. “Yeah, that’s a bit of a more pressing concern than allergies. Although, where there’s meth, there’s pseudoephedrine. Get you some of that for your cat allergy,” he added with a goofy grin.

Sam gave Steve the ‘bad joke’ face and hit him with a pillow.

\-----------------

The next morning, Sam sneezed himself awake. He was never so grateful for cat piss.

Steve took the next leg of the drive while Sam passed out in the front seat with some Benadryl.

☆☆☆☆☆

“Steve, stay in the hallway, I just saw a goddamn bedbug,” Sam said, holding his hand up in warning and holding his duffel just a little tighter.

“Bedbugs? Really?” Steve sighed.

“Yes, bedbugs. I may be an international fugitive, but I draw the line at bedbugs,” Sam said with a shudder. “I will sleep in the car if I have to.”

“I feel that,” Steve said, stepping aside to let Sam back out of the room and pull the door shut.

They walked back down to the front desk in uncomfortable silence. Sam tried to ignore the psychosomatic itching. (For the love of all that is holy, _please_ let it be psychosomatic.) He hung back as Steve reported the bedbugs and got them transferred into a room on the other side of the building.

Once in their new room, Sam made a very thorough bedbug check while Steve played Snake on his flip phone in the hallway.

Sam gave the all-clear and Steve entered the room with a half-smile. “Did I ever tell you the story of how Bucky almost burned our apartment down when I caught fleas from a stray cat I took in to care for a dog bite?”

“…Nooooo _oooo???_ ” Sam said turning slowly to look Steve in the eyes, to try and see if he was joking or if this was a real story.

“Oh, yeah, it wasn’t so funny at the time, but looking back, it’s kind of hilarious,” Steve continued, as if this were a perfectly normal topic of conversation.

“ _Do_ tell,” Sam said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and folding his hands in his lap.

Steve took the desk chair and crossed his left leg up over his right knee. He continued. “Ok, so picture this: I’m sitting on the floor, trying to pick fleas out of the fur of a less than thrilled cat, while Bucky’s sitting behind me, trying to pick fleas out of my hair, like we were a bunch of chimpanzees. Except, of course, we’re not eating them. We’re dropping the fleas into a cooking pot with a bunch of turpentine in the bottom of it to drown them. And, of course, being the teenage idiots we were, Bucky decided that, hey, let’s kill ‘em _extra_ dead by lighting the turpentine on fire.”

Sam snorted.

“Yeah. Turpentine is very flammable,” Steve said, his voice _far_ too calm.

Sam grinned.

“You’re going to use this as ammunition against him, aren’t you?” Steve asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Oh you’d better _believe_ I am,” Sam replied.

☆☆☆★★

“Sam, there is a _raccoon_ in the bathtub!”

“I thought we left Bucky in Wakanda?”

“Ha, ha, _very funny_. Please call the front desk or animal control or _someone_ qualified to deal with this!”

☆☆★★★

Sam blinked awake as the bed shifted. It was still night, the street lamps filtering in around the curtains. He watched Steve, a dark shape in the dim room, as he crossed to the window and peered through the curtain gap.

“Something wrong?” Sam mumbled, trying to wake up. He knew he ought to be more alert, given everything, but it had been a long week and he was _tired_. He lifted himself onto one elbow.

“I heard something,” Steve replied. “Not sure what, could be a fight.”

“Come back to bed, Steve. You don’t need to get involved in an ass-o-clock am parking lot fight at a Motel 6.”

“But what if someone needs help?” Steve said, using his most Steve-est voice.

“Fine, just don’t get arrested,” Sam said, settling back into a more comfortable position. “Being a non-enhanced human being with normal human needs when it comes to sleep, I’m going to stay right here, alright?”

“Completely understandable,” Steve said, pulling on actual pants and stepping into his shoes. He slid his key card into his pocket and cracked the door open just enough to slip out into the night.

Sam went back to sleep.

\----------------

The door creaked open and Sam was awake again. Steve slipped in, slightly wet-looking and smelling like cheap beer.

“Steve? What happened? Are you ok?” Sam asked, dragging himself into a sitting position.

“I’m fine, just need to shower,” Steve replied. “Guy broke a six pack over my head, so there might be some glass in my hair and I’m covered in beer, but I’m otherwise intact.”

“How’s everyone else?” Sam asked.

“They’re intact, too. Probably going to have some nasty hangovers in the morning, but they’re alive and kicking. Or, well, not kicking anymore. There had been kicking. But I managed to herd them back to their respective rooms and they’ll sleep it off.”

“That’s good,” Sam yawned. “As soon as you’re done with your shower, come back to bed. I’m cold and I miss my human furnace.”

“As soon as I can, don’t worry,” Steve said, blowing a kiss as he pulled the bathroom door closed.

☆☆☆☆★

“I did _not_ miss busted heating in the middle of December,” Steve said, hitting the wall heater, trying to get it to work.

Sam had already pulled the sheets and blankets off the second bed and was burrowed down under as many layers, both blankets and clothes, as he could manage. He was even wearing his pom-pom hat to bed.

Steve whacked the heater again. The front cover popped off with a cracking noise. He glanced around guiltily, as if it weren’t only him and Sam in the room. He finagled the cover back into place as best he could, sighed, and gave up. He climbed back into bed and wrapped himself around Sam.

“Remind me to give this place a one-star review on Yelp,” Sam murmured. “‘Looks like murder-house. Heat doesn’t work.’”

“I’m not sure this place is _on_ Yelp,” Steve replied. “I’m not sure this place is on the internet at _all_.”

“No, I think it’s probably on one of those ghost-tour websites. Like I said. Murder-house.”

☆★★★★

Steve turned his whole body, watching her cross the hotel lobby and disappear into an elevator. His mouth was slightly open and when he turned back to Sam, he was pointing in the general direction she had gone.

“Was that who I think it was?” he asked as soon as he figured out how to speak again.

“I think so. I also think she’d thank you to not be quite so obvious,” Sam replied quietly, sipping his drink.

It was New Year’s and they were treating themselves. Steve had actually cleaned himself up pretty nicely, looking like a dapper lumberjack instead of a grungy hipster. Sam was looking like he always did, no special clean-up required. They had both managed to rent decent tuxes and a were pretending like they had a room at a decent hotel by spending time at the lobby bar of a place that was definitely out of their current price range. 

And they had quite possibly just spotted Natasha. A platinum blonde Natasha, but still recognizable. They hadn’t seen her since Leipzig. 

“Do you think she saw us?” Steve asked under his breath.

Sam shrugged. “With her? Who knows.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. He lifted his drink. “Well, here’s to New Year’s. Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Sam replied, touching his glass to Steve’s.

\-----------------

They had watched the ball drop, kissed with the other couples, finished their drinks, paid the tab, and then Sam and Steve were on their way out to attempt to find a much cheaper hotel or motel at which to spend the rest of the night.

Or, that had been the plan. They made it as far as the restrooms when Steve felt a hand on his collar and he was dragged unceremoniously into the ladies’ room. 

“I apologize to anyone in here, this was not part of my plan,” Steve said to the mostly empty restroom.

“Wasn’t part of my plan either, but here we are,” Natasha replied, pushing Steve into one of the chairs in the “waiting” area of the restroom. She returned to the door, cracking it open to watch the hallway.

A moment later, Sam was forcibly added to their little group.

Natasha slipped the “closed for cleaning” sign into the hallway and turned to face Sam and Steve. Steve adjusted his collar. Sam thought he was sobering up pretty quickly.

“Are you following me?” Natasha asked, fingering a bracelet which, all things considered, was probably a very fancy taser.

“What? No, we didn’t know you were here when we picked the place,” Steve began.

“Given where you’ve been staying for the past couple weeks, I don’t think you can afford this hotel, so why else would you be here?”

“It’s New Year’s. We just wanted to have drinks somewhere nice where we could pretend for a few hours that we aren’t international fugitives,” Sam shrugged. “And how do you know where we’ve been staying?”

“You have shown up at the last _four_ events I have done. Of _course_ I did my research,” Natasha said.

“We have?” Sam asked. He looked at Steve.

“News to me,” Steve replied.

“Yeah, we haven’t been anywhere near as fancy as this in a long time,” Sam continued.

“The bell choir charity show was kind of fancy,” Steve said.

“Yeah, ok, I’ll give you that,” Sam agreed.

“Have we really been accidentally following you?” Steve asked, turning back to Natasha.

“Yeah, we aren’t doing it on purpose,” Sam said.

Natasha scrutinized them, trying to determine if they were lying, or if they actually hadn’t been following her and it was some kind of extremely unlikely coincidence. If she could trust _anyone_ , it would be these two.

“You know I’m not exactly currently in Ross’s good graces, right? You don’t have to keep tabs on me,” Natasha said, conceding a little and relaxing her stance just a bit.

“Yeah, we figured that. Also, we really aren’t keeping tabs on you,” Steve answered.

“We just came for the drinks and TV. What are _you_ doing here?” Sam asked.

“Oh, you know, spy stuff,” Natasha said evasively.

A moment of awkward silence. Neither Sam nor Steve quite knew how to follow that, and Natasha wasn’t exactly rushing to elaborate.

“Well, uh, we’ll leave you to it, then,” Steve said, standing up.

Natasha held up a hand to forestall him.

Steve sat back down.

“Assuming I haven’t blown my chance to finish things tonight, I should be done with this job by morning. I likely won’t need my room until 3 am at the earliest; if you two wanted, you could take the second bed, get a bit of shut-eye. You look like you haven’t exactly been staying in the nicest hotels over the past six months.”

Steve tried to stifle a snort-laugh.

“You don’t say,” Sam said, giving Steve a knowing glance. He turned back to Natasha. “There’s no catch, is there?”

“No catch. I guess I just realized how much I missed you guys,” Natasha said quietly, looking away like she was almost embarrassed to admit that she liked having friends.

“Aww, you missed us,” Steve teased.

“Hey, don’t rub it in,” Natasha teased back.

\-------------

Sam gave a deep, contented sigh as he sank into the bed and clicked the lamp off.

“I never thought I’d actually be grateful for a marshmallow bed like this,” he said, turning to Steve in the darkness.

“It’s New Year’s. We’re allowed to treat ourselves,” Steve said, smiling back at Sam.

☆☆★★★

“No, you do it, _I’m_ not poking her,” Sam whispered.

“You’re on the side closer to her bed, I’d have to get up and cross all the way around, _you_ do it,” Steve whispered back, shaking his head.

“I am _not_ telling Natasha she snores, thank you very much. I enjoy not being dead.”

☆☆☆☆★

Sam took one step into the room, paused, then stepped backwards out into the hallway again.

“What is it?” Natasha asked, immediately alert.

“Steve, hand me a pair of flip-flops,” Sam said, bending over to remove his shoes.

Steve pulled a Wal-Mart bag full of loose flip-flops out of his duffel and handed a pair to Sam. He selected a pair for himself, pulled his shoes and socks off, and slipped the flip-flops on.

“Guys? Why are you putting on flip-flops? You gonna let me in on the secret?” Natasha asked, looking between Sam and Steve.

“The carpet went ‘squish’ when I stepped on it,” Sam explained. “There is no good reason for it to go squish, and we learned a while back that some of those reasons are _really_ nasty. Hence the cheap, disposable flip-flops. They might be a bit big for you, but we’ve got enough to share.”

Steve held out a pair of gaudy lime green floral flip-flops. Natasha accepted them, looking a little concerned with the situation as a whole.

“Is this a common occurrence in the motels you’ve been staying in?” she asked.

Steve wiggled his hand in a ‘so-so’ motion.

“And you’re going to trust the rest of the room?”

“As long as the beds aren’t also sticky, yeah,” Sam said, moving back into the room, flip-flops going slap-squish as he crossed to the bed and then the drawers, poking both experimentally. “I think they’re safe.”

“Yeah, we’re going to trust it,” Steve said to Natasha. He swept his arm out in a gesture of welcome. “After you.”

Natasha squelched into the room, trying to keep her overly large flip-flops from falling off. “And I thought _my_ old room at the compound was a mess.”

“Nah, that was just clutter. You’ve got _nothing_ on some of the places we’ve stayed,” Sam said.

“You know what? I don’t wanna know,” Natasha said, checking the drawer before putting her bag into it, not bothering to unpack. “How about we get out of this room for a bit and go find dinner somewhere the floor doesn’t make slurping noises when you walk on it?”

“That sounds like a very good plan,” Sam said. Steve nodded his agreement.

“Great. Check your flip-flops at the door and let’s get out of here.”

☆☆☆★★

“Natasha, is your bed normal?” Sam asked, poking at the mattress on his and Steve’s bed.

“What do you mean ‘normal?” Natasha replied, unzipping her duffel and setting her clothes out on her bed to air out for a bit.

“I dunno, something just feels off about this one,” Sam said, walking around and poking it from another angle.

“I can’t say it feels any weirder than the other beds I’ve slept in over the past few months.”

“Alright, maybe I’m just getting a weird feeling because what else is going to go wrong for us?”

“Yeah, it’s probably just that.”

\-----------

“Sam, what’s wrong with this bed?” Steve asked, wiggling around and trying to get comfortable.

“See? I knew there was something weird about it,” Sam said around his toothbrush, poking his head out of the bathroom door.

“Well, neither of you have figured out _what_ ’s weird about it, just that it _is_ weird,” Natasha replied.

“Come over here and see if you can figure it out,” Steve said, sitting up, throwing the covers back, and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“If you insist,” Natasha said, climbing out of her bed and crossing the narrow aisle to Sam and Steve’s bed. 

She sat down.

“I know what your problem is,” she said, almost immediately.

“What?” Steve and Sam asked in unison.

“It’s on a weird angle. The foot of the bed is noticeably lower than the head.”

“Huh,” was Steve’s reply.

☆☆☆☆★

Steve tried his keycard again, getting the same beep and the angry red blink of the lock light. He jiggled the doorknob, but it didn’t move.

“Nat, do you have your card on you? Mine isn’t working,” Steve said, turning around and stepping aside, shifting the grocery bag to his other shoulder.

“Yeah, hang on, lemme find it,” Natasha said, patting her pockets until she found her keycard.

She slid it into the lock and waited for the light to turn green. And got the same beep and red warning light that Steve had gotten. Frowning, she tried again to the same result.

“That’s odd. Try yours again,” Natasha said.

Steve did. No luck.

“This is the right room, right?” he asked, glancing up at the room number. 307. Yes, it was their room. So at least they weren’t going to have the police show up to question them about attempting to break into someone else’s room.

“At least Sam’s a light sleeper,” Steve said, knocking on the door.

“Why are you knocking on our door?” Sam asked, appearing suddenly in the hallway behind them.

Steve jumped. “I thought you were in there?”

“I got thirsty. You were taking too long,” Sam said, holding up a bottle of Coke.

“I hope your card still works, because ours seem to have crapped out on us,” Natasha said, demonstrating. The lock beeped at her and the door stayed firmly shut.

“That’s not good,” Sam said, pulling out his keycard and stepping up to the door. 

The lock turned red again.

The three of them shared a look of ‘well, fuck.’

“Alright, rock-paper-scissors for who has to go down and tell the front desk we’re all locked out of our room and see if they can replace our keycards,” Sam said.

Steve lost. He collected Sam and Natasha’s keycards, left the grocery bag with them, and headed to the stairwell.

Sam sat down on the floor, leaned up against the wall, and cracked his soda open. Natasha sat down across from him. He offered her a sip. She nodded and took the bottle from him.

“So. You’ve been on the road with us for what, a year now?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, can you believe it?” Natasha said with a tired laugh.

“When I think of some of the motels we’ve stayed in, I don’t _want_ to,” Sam laughed back.

“ _Seriously_ ,” Natasha said, grinning. “How do you and Steve have such awful luck picking motels? I never had any of the problems you two told me about when I was on my own, and none of the motels I’ve picked on my turn have been nearly as weird. You’re jinxed.”

“I’ll believe that,” Sam said, accepting his drink back from her. “We even had a raccoon in the bathtub in one place.”

Natasha just shook her head. “Jinxed.”

Eventually, Steve reemerged from the stairwell bearing three new keycards.

“Alright, get this. Somehow we managed to get a set of ‘emergency’ cards that will open any door in the building exactly once before they have to be reset by the front desk,” Steve explained, passing out the new keycards.

“And that’s not creepy _at all_ ,” Natasha said, standing back up.

“They’re _supposed_ to only be used by hotel staff in case of emergency,” Steve explained. “Although, yes, kinda creepy when you think about it.”

“How long do we have these rooms booked for?” Sam asked, accepting his new keycard and unlocking the door. He let the light turn off again and reinserted his card. The doorknob turned. “Well, at least it looks like I can use this one more than just once.”

“We’re here for three days—just until after New Year’s,” Steve replied. “I wonder if the ‘emergency’ card thing is just something they do here, or if more places have them, too?”

“Thinking about it, it’s probably pretty widespread,” Natasha said. “However, I’d hope most places aren’t quite so careless about handing them out to just anyone who requests a room.”

“Well, maybe the new year will bring us a little more luck when it comes to hotels,” Sam said.

“I’ll drink to that,” Steve said, pulling the bottle of cheap champagne out of the grocery bag, popping the cork, and pouring the contents into three paper cups. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Sam and Natasha echoed. 

They tapped their cups together in a toast and drank to better luck in the new year.


End file.
